by Danny "Don Juan" Henrey
When Philomel, on such a night
Her plaintive heart set forth
Amidst the solemn elms,
And, breathless as the cooling earth,
Stayed hours long in trembling hope
Of Echo’s faint reply,
Did not blithe Cupid pity show,
With wayward aim commit a dart
To Strephon’s manly thigh?
Trills Philomel: ‘My song is heard!’
Strephon, with intensest rapture,
Sucks down each liquid word,
And, restless as the midnight fount,
That gushes fast in heated sobs,
Returns a Delphic chord,
Vouchsafing endless joy,
‘Such from such sympathy doth spring’:
Nought else to be endured?
Gasps Philomel: ‘Never such love!’
As, twined, each tender strain, each touch
Fits probing hand to glove,
And, troubled as the rising breeze,
That fast augments the feeling flood,
Urges lingering haste,
Till at the last is teased
A sharp commingling of the blood:
Act sublime, or debased?
Sighs Philomel: ‘For evermore!’
The brown-limbed fretwork of the trees
Is still, benumbed, unsure,
And, quiet as the careless moon,
That strews a thin and bitter light,
Enfolds with shades the pair,
Who, as a statue fixed,
Betray no living pulse or stir:
Is such the final scene?
When Philomel, on such a night,
Her silent heart gave up
To Strephon’s cold caress,
Whilst, constant as the fleeing years,
The sneering, graceless rain did come,
And still, yet still, does fall,
Does not witless Cupid leer,
Discharge an arbitrary dart,
Move an anguished marble squall?